In the Case of a Child
by coolerthanyouatleast
Summary: Sherlock never suspected he would have an almost teenage daughter at thirty-two years of age. How could he cope with having a twelve year old in the house, a steady boyfriend, and balance cases along the way? Johnlock, angsty in places but with quite a bit of fluff as well. Contains Sherlock being a crappy parent and making poor decisions, and John trying to put things right.
1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper walked fast along the dimly lit street, wondering how anything like this could ever happen to her. She was nineteen years old, went to university to study medicine, and got exceptionally good grades. And all that would have to change if she didn't act quickly. She was crazy for what she was about to do, she knew that, but it was the only way if she ever wanted to complete school and make a proper life for herself. With trembling hands she rang the intercom of the flat, and a cool man's voice replied, "State your name and business."  
"Molly Hooper. Is this Mycroft?"  
"Yes, how can I help?"  
"It's a bit much to explain out here, can I come in? I know your brother." The door buzzed and she entered, going up a few flights of stairs until she found the right one. Mycroft was waiting at the door for her, his foot tapping impatiently. "I have places to be, Molly Hooper. What's going on?"

"Well, I've been dating your brother since..."  
"February, he told me."  
"And I think I'm..." Her voice trailed off and she felt like she was suffocating, as the truth in her words hit her. "Pregnant." She finished, tears threatening to drop from her eyes.  
"And what in the world does that have to do with me?"  
"I don't want him to know, I want to finish school, and I know you're in with the government. There must be some way you can make it so I don't need to keep this baby."  
"Abortion, perhaps? Isn't that the obvious solution? Good day." Mycroft went to shut the door, but Molly stuck her foot in the doorway. "Please, listen to me. I want it to be born, it deserves a chance at life. Please."

Mycroft sighed and let her come in, and she wiped her feet on the doormat. "Well, you might as well. I don't particularly fancy a meeting with our pompous idiot of a prime minister." He showed her into the extravagant living room, and she sat down gingerly. She was careful not to ruin any cushions, but she was terribly aware of her wet raincoat against the green velvet armchair.

"So what, precisely, do you want to do?"  
"Get it adopted, but not only that. I don't want Sherlock to know I was ever pregnant. How can I do that?" She waited for an answer, and he tapped his head, thinking it over.  
"Adoption, and you don't want him to know? You have to separate from him. Now. There's no other way. And distance yourself from him, even move cities. Countries, if necessary. I'll set up a university transfer so you can get your degree somewhere else. You know how he notices everything, you can't let him see you anymore after you begin to show. Make up an excuse, anything. But he'll know if you're lying, so make it through a letter or an email. And quick. And I'll even ensure the baby is well looked after and attended to."  
"Thank you, Mycroft. I can't even begin to repay you. But where do you think I should go?"  
"Your parents' house?"  
"Well, it's just my mum at home, and she's got my brothers and sisters already to worry about. But I guess I could see about going to Scotland? I've always wanted to go there."  
"Well, then. I'll arrange a transfer with Edinburgh university in the morning. Until then, you think of a way to separate from Sherlock."

"Thank you for your time, Mycroft. I'll see myself out."

As she shut the door behind her, her phone began to vibrate. A text from Sherlock.

"Hey Mols. Date tonight? Meet at Bond Street. Love you. -SH."

Molly breathed out heavily. This was going to be the hardest thing she had ever done in her entire life, breaking up with Sherlock. She honestly thought he was the one, she would spend the rest of her life with him, and that kids could maybe come later. But now she had no choice. She was ashamed, even though she wasn't really sure it was her fault. And she didn't want Sherlock to be disappointed with her for ruining her life before it started. She stepped out into the rain, and grimaced. She texted him back.

"I'm sorry. I can't see you again. I have too much commitment, and I've just been transferred up north. So sorry. I love you but this has to end.-Molly xoxox"

It was a good thing the rain was falling down hard on her face, now. She didn't want anyone to see her cry. She went to the end of the street where her bike was chained up, and cycled towards her student flat without a backwards glance. She had so much to do, and at such short notice. She had to leave in the morning, and that meant she had to book a train, pack her stuff, and inform her university she was leaving the flat tonight. Not that she wanted to do any of this. But, as Mycroft said, it had to be done.

The odd thing was, she had grown strangely attached to her flat. It was nothing to be proud of, just a small, one-bedroomed little thing furnished with bits and bobs from the charity shops and cheap second hand furniture stores around London. But it was the memories it held. Her first real party, dates with her first real boyfriend, staying up late with her best friends watching girly movies and talking about Sherlock. And the way she had really found where she belonged, for once in her life. No longer being an outcast. She wasn't popular, but she was comfortable with the way things were. Ever since her father died, she didn't think she would ever be whole again. But London had fixed that.

But now she had to leave all of that behind.

* * *

**a/n: new story, i forgot where the old one was going and I deleted the plans on my computer -facepalm-**

**But how do you like this one?**

**Please review, I'm doing that begging thing again D: -sad puppy eyes- **


	2. Chapter 2

221B Baker Street was always quiet on a Sunday. Lestrade was always off work, and clients usually had their other commitments. Sherlock, as always, was uncontrollably bored. Thankfully, John had hidden his gun. He didn't want to have to patch up the wall again. Sherlock was rolling on the floor, complaining. John looked at him pitifully, and slumped back in his chair.

"What do you want to do?" John asked, out of ideas entirely.

"I want a case!" he wailed, throwing his hands in the air. "I haven't had a single bloody client for three days!"  
"Well, you can't have a bloody case, Sherlock. Do you want a hug?" His face brightened up.

"Yes," he said shortly, and crawled over to John. He balanced himself on his knees, and let himself fall into John's arms. John patted his back and pulled him closer, smiling at his boyfriend. "Hey, baby," he murmured, letting Sherlock sniffle into his chest. "You can have a case tomorrow. We can talk to Lestrade. A nice, juicy murder." He felt Sherlock smiling at the thought.

Just then, the doorbell rang, a sharp, short blast. "Client!" exclaimed Sherlock happily, running to our flat door. Their landlady, Mrs Hudson, opened the main front door, and called Sherlock down with a confused tone in her voice. "Sherlock! Some girl here to see you!"  
Sherlock looked bemused. "A girl?" He went down the stairs, and John heard him ask the girl a few questions. He then returned, with the girl in tow. She looked about eight, with shoulder-length brown hair, curly like Sherlock's but a completely different and lighter shade to her hair. Her shining eyes were a dark sea green. She had a determined little expression on her face, and she was biting her lip. Leaning against our doorway, she looked both of us up and down.

"Hello," she said, not taking her eyes off Sherlock.

"Hello, and what do you want?" Sherlock looked both ecstatic and annoyed. Happy because a client had finally showed up for business, and angry because she hadn't got straight to the point as soon as he started talking to her.  
"Sherlock, be nice," John sighed, shaking his head at him. "She's just a child."  
"I'm not a child!" the girl announced defensively. "I'm thirteen. Nearly!"  
"Really? Well, you look a lot younger. Go away, you obnoxious little girl." Sherlock was beginning to look annoyed. John gave him a warning look and he shrugged. "What? This conversation isn't going anywhere!"

"For God's sake, just let her speak!"  
The girl took a deep breath, and sat down. "You're Sherlock Holmes. I heard you're the best detective in London."  
Sherlock puffed out his chest proudly. "Yes, I have been told. What do you need?"

"I'm here on holiday for a couple of weeks with my parents. Well, when I say parents..." She gave a distracted sideways glance out of the window. "I'm adopted. And I read my parent's emails to a man named Mycroft. He said that his brother was Sherlock Holmes. And... Sherlock Holmes was my father." She finished, very red faced and out of breath.  
Sherlock assumed a very shocked expression, and kicked back in his reclining armchair with his eyes closed. It was a while before he moved again. John knew that look. Mind palace. He exhaled a lot, and sat up to look at the girl.

"How?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.  
"Well, from a biological point of view - " she began, but Sherlock held a finger to his lips to shush her.

"Yes, of course I know how. But... Your mother. She never told me."  
"So you're not going to dispute that I'm your daughter?" She looked surprised.  
"No. Of course you are. How could you not be? Your eyes, your mouth, the texture of your hair. Your mannerisms. Frankly, and it pains me to say this, the intelligence in the way you talk. Of course you're mine."

The girl nodded smugly. "I knew it. I knew it! Well, I deduced it from looking at you, much the way you did with me." She glanced at her watch. "I need to go," she said sadly, sliding off the chair. "Bye, father."  
"Wait, you're going now? After waltzing into my house and just introducing yourself as my daughter?" Sherlock was hurt, the pain was unbearable. He had just met his only child, and now she was leaving, as soon as she had arrived.  
"Pretty much. My 'parents' will wonder where I've went." Not that she looked too happy about leaving, either. Her eyes were red and puffy.  
"Can I see you again?" he begged, his voice cracking. He watched her get out of her chair, and  
"I don't know. Talk to your brother." And she flounced off, with a nonchalant wave of her hand. Sherlock made a deep moaning sound, and stood up. He reached for his mobile phone, and turned to John. His expression was pained and confused, and a solitary tear rolled down his face.

"Who should I call to confront first?" he asked John. "Molly or Mycroft?" He stabbed a number into the keys of his Blackberry, and then the shouting match began.

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**a/n: thanks for the reviews! keep 'em coming! :D**

**im begging for reviews again, haha. it's only two minutes of your time, and you can be as judgemental as you like! I don't mind, bad feedback is better than none at all! :D**

**SO REVIEW!**

**~mae :) x**


	3. Chapter 3

"So, when were you going to tell me?" Sherlock asked, trying to be polite, but at the same time trying not to scream in frustration.

"Tell you what?" wondered Molly, hastily trying to dissect a brain with one hand while holding her mobile phone with the other.

"Hmm, Molly, I really don't know. Maybe something to do with the fact that our short-lived relationship ended thirteen years ago because you were pregnant?"

"What? Okay, how the hell did you know that?" Molly grimaced. This was all of her fears confirmed. He knew now. After all of those steps she took, after all the trouble she went to to stop him finding out. And now he had succeeded.

He ignored her. He wasn't going to get to that bit, just yet. There were still points he needed to make. "Or, perhaps I have a twelve year old daughter I've never met?" Until now, he added silently.

"Oh god, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. But how do you know?"

"And, possibly she's just like me in so many aspects? And she just barged into my house and told me all this now? Wouldn't that make anyone a little bit angry? That's the problem with you, Molly. You just don't think!"

"I... Erm..." Molly's mouth began to open and close uselessly like a goldfish, but no sound was coming out. Too late, anyway. Sherlock had hung up angrily, and he was now kicking boxes around the room. John held him as he threw his little tantrum, whispering reassurances in his ear and gently rocking him back and forth. Eventually calming down, Sherlock turned to look at his boyfriend. "Sorry, for that..." he mumbled, embarrassed at losing control in front of his boyfriend. But the look on John's face wasn't anger, or even pity. It was a caring, worried expression that only the person who loves you most can portray.

"It's okay, Sherlock. Anyone else would've reacted the same."

Sherlock pouted. "But, I'm not just anyone. Am I?" he asked.

John considered this for a moment, then looked him straight in the eye. "No, Sherlock. You're right. You're not just anyone."

There was a silence in the flat for a little while. Both of them were appreciating the quiet companionship, although still rather shaken by the whirlwind entrance of Sherlock's daughter. It felt odd saying that, since John had never viewed Sherlock as being at all paternal. He had even mocked some parents in the street on a few occasions, and said that he generally didn't have any time for most children. With the exception of the "clever ones," but that went without saying. Not that there were very many clever children, other than the child they had just seen. If he was honest, John wasn't even sure she was clever, he had only listened to her for all of ten minutes. But, if Sherlock had deduced that, he wasn't one to argue with a brilliant mind like his.

"What are you going to do, Sherlock?" Finally he asked the question that had been preying on his mind since she left, and was eating away at him inside. There didn't seem to be an answer, until John realised that Sherlock was fast asleep on the sofa, curled up with his knees under his chin. He sighed and tucked him in, and tip-toed over to his laptop. Spending some time mulling over what to write on his latest blog post, he got distracted by the internet. It was impossible for him to concentrate after everything that had happened today. Did this mean that he was a father too? Would he hold a responsibility for a twelve year old girl, more importantly a twelve year old girl he had never really got to know? Would this create a closer or more strained relationship with Sherlock? All this uncertainty was terrible!

Sherlock's sleep was disturbed by unsettling dreams about his daughter completely leaving him, forever lonely in the absence of her. He didn't realize how much he needed her until he had finally met her, out of the blue and extremely unexpected. When he awoke, he was coated in the familiar sweat of a nightmare, and the blanket was tangled around his limbs. He checked the time, it was seven in the morning. He had apparently slept for over sixteen hours. On the plus side, Mycroft would be in his office. He quickly dressed, leaving John asleep with his laptop on his chest.

The cab to Mycroft's office in town was a short journey distance-wise, but it was London in the morning rush hour. It ended up taking about half an hour, just for a couple of streets. Sherlock resolved to walk more in future.  
Mycroft's office was full of clutter, broken flotsam and jetsam scattered around the room like glitter in an art workshop. His desk was piled high with files on what could possibly be every single human being in the United Kingdom, living or dead. Mycroft himself was reading one of them, accentuating important points with a broad orange highlighter. When he looked up, Sherlock was balancing precariously on the edge of his desk, staring him down. A warm smile graced Mycroft's face.

"Ah, Sherlock! Such a pleasant… Surprise." As he finished, Sherlock began to look even more angry. His face was screwed up, and his hands were shaking.

"How can I help?" Mycroft queried.

"I'll tell you how you can help," Sherlock spat in fury. "Right now, we need to talk. And I want you to tell me the truth."

Mycroft went pale. "You know, don't you?"

Sherlock nodded.

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**a/n: ooh hello cliffie. sorry for the not regular updates, i'm back to school now and it's just uggghhh studying. so that's why my writing hasn't been too fabulous.**

**Thank you all for the reviews so far, and the follows and favourites, you're all fab :3 xx**

**PLEASE REVIEW! I'm begging!**


	4. Chapter 4

Jessica Annabell Smith was in a glass pod on the top of the London Eye. The sky was a rumbling, thunderous cloud of grey, and she knew the storms would come soon. She looked at the view, and could just about see Baker Street in the distance. Thinking of her father again. How did he feel about all this? Who was the funny little man in the chair opposite him? She hadn't had time to deduce anything, it was such a fleeting visit, and from what she had heard, her skills were poor in comparison to Sherlock.

Sherlock. What a peculiar name. Most fathers she knew were called Rob, or David, or James. Common names, widely used and accepted. Her name was common too. Jessica, but people at school had coined her with Jess, or Jessie when she was in their good books. Which wasn't often, since she was always able to tell when people were lying or being fake. And that was often, since most people her age (especially girls) were sneaky little creatures. They didn't like it when Jessica pointed that out, for some reason. She guessed that was part of the reason why she didn't have very many friends. Also the fact that she was almost thirteen but looked nine, and most of the time she didn't socialize.

The glass pod began to move again, unexpectedly, and Jessica's stomach lurched. It came down onto the ground, and she tripped with an abrupt thud om her way out. Her parents were waiting for her on a bench, they hated heights. Jessica looked at the couple in wonder, unable to comprehend how anyone could be so thoughtless. Did they really not think she would be able to deduce that she was adopted? Really, it wasn't rocket science. On the physical side, she was nothing like either of her parents. They were short, slightly overweight and darker in hair and complexion, and she was tall, scrawnily thin and pale. They both had small noses and large mouths, and she had a big nose and a rather odd mouth.

There was also personality clashes to be accounted for, probably the most important defining point. They were boisterous, outspoken and jovial, while she preferred to sit placidly and observe. The thing they loved most in the world was to go to parties, while she was most content to curl up in her bedroom with a book and her laptop. Their common sense was adequate at best, while the school was frequently almost worried about how fast she was progressing in terms of intelligence. They were proud of her, but they didn't really understand a lot of her strange mannerisms and idiosyncrasies. The diagnosis of high functioning autism had helped a lot, even though it had caused her peers to be even more vile to her.

"Mum?" asked Jessica, sitting down next to her parents.

"Yes, my sweet?"

"You know how I'm adopted?" Her mother froze. She hated it when Jessica brought this up. Every time it felt like she had found out, that she knew who her parents were.

"What about it? You know we think of you as our own."

"Yeah, I don't doubt that, but I kind of met my dad the other day. My real dad," she added, even though there was no need since her adoptive father was sitting right next to them.

Jessica's mother wasn't angry, but she sat motionless. She cursed herself. How could she be so careless? Jess had been able to hack into an email account since she was ten, and she had been doing so well deleting all of the evidence. How could she have forgotten on that ONE occasion?

"Oh bugger, Jess. I'm so sorry we never told you about him. What's he like?"

"Me," Jessica told her simply. There was silence. And finally, her father spoke.

"Well, I sort of think it's a blessing in disguise, this thing. Why shouldn't Jessie know where she came from and who made her the way she was?"

Jessica nodded. "It would've been nice to have your support in all of this."

"Sorry, dear."

"Well, can I see him again?" she asked.

Her adoptive parents exchanged hurried glances. "Fine."

"When?" she asked.

"Today if you'd like."

* * *

Sherlock was still screaming at Mycroft, finding his tranquility annoying. Mycroft didn't even blink throughout his rant. Instead he just drew a deep breath and offered his little brother a cigarette. Taking it gratefully, Sherlock lit it up.

"I'm still angry, Mycroft. You can't just expect tobacco to make it all okay."

"I understand, Sherlock."

" Do you?" Sherlock doubted that very much. After all, Mycroft was a cold, childless man. He didn't really care about people besides himself and maybe Sherlock. Sherlock used to be like him, until he met John. Then again, John had changed a lot of things.

"No," admitted Mycroft. "No, I don't know what it's like at all."

* * *

**a/n: yay more stuff about Sherlock's daughter. I thought it would be nice to have a contrast between the uncommonness of Sherlock's name, and have something plain like Jessica for the girl (obviously not something he would pick himself). Also, more feels coming right up!**

**I learned how to do documents on my phone, so I'm writing under my desk at school and at lunch time because I'm so addicted to this story :D**

**PLEASE REVIEW! :D xx**


	5. Chapter 5

"He's not going to answer, mum. We should stop trying." Jessica sighed, and took her finger off the doorbell. He obviously didn't want to answer the door to her. And who could blame him? Nobody would be expected to take it well when they had a young daughter practically thrust in their face. Sherlock probably didn't even want anything to do with her.

"I'm sorry, Jess. We can try again tomorrow, if you'd like?" Her mother's face was ashen and disappointed, and Jess could tell she was genuinely sad for her. Screwing up her face in an attempt not to cry, she nodded. "Thanks mum."

Suddenly, Sherlock rounded the corner, and looked absolutely astounded to see her standing on his doorstep. "You came back!" he exclaimed with joy, breaking into a sprint as he approached the door to 221B. He stood for a while before taking his keys out of his coat pocket. He barely acknowledged the woman after making a few deductions. Mid fifties, carer of three children (including his daughter), in a relationship that wasn't in the argument stage but had gone entirely stale over the course of two decades. She seemed trustworthy, however.

"I did come back," Jessica agreed happily.

"Well, do you want to come in?" he asked.

"Of course."

Jessica breathed in the musty scent of the flat, observed every corner, took in the many senses. She ran her bitten fingernails against the green velvet of Sherlock's armchair, and sat down awkwardly on the sofa. Her long legs stretched out, and let her mother sit beside her.

"So…" said Sherlock.

"Hello."  
"You know what's really odd? We're blood relatives, you've been alive for thirteen years, and I don't know your name."  
"Oh, right. Um, I'm Jessica."  
Sherlock scoffed. "Jessica? JESSICA?" A defensive look from her mother tried desperately to stop him, but failed miserably. "Well, that's ghastly."

"What's wrong with Jessica?" the mother asked.  
"It's awful! Couldn't you have been a little bit more imaginative?"

"I, er…" Jessica shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Obviously Sherlock didn't mean to insult her, and she didn't feel insulted. The problem was, she secretly agreed with him. Jessica /was/ a horrible name, and she always felt like she deserved at least a little better than that. She wasn't a mundane person. So why have a boring, average, mundane name? As strongly as she felt about this, she had never expressed these feelings to her mother. But now Sherlock had, and she silently thanked him for it.

Her mother cleared her throat. "Mr. Holmes, is there anywhere Jessica could go to sit? I think there's a lot we need to talk about."  
"Um, yes. I think we need to talk too. JOHN!" he hollered, and the mousy haired little man came through. "Could you, um, entertain Jessica? Just for ten minutes?"  
"How?"  
"I don't know. Jessica, what do you like?"  
"Um… Books?" offered Jessica, biting her lip.

"Er… I have books."  
"Well, then. John, take her through. I'll shout for you when we're done." Sherlock smiled at Jessica reassuringly. Smiling weakly back, she followed John from the room. Once she was outside, she heard a lot of words. Words like "reintegration," and "visitation rights," and "parental responsibilities," and "child support." This could be it. Sherlock wanted her back in his life, in his home. And she was sure her mother was going to put up a damn good fight against it. Especially since she had met the man called John. She had deduced that Sherlock was in a relationship with John. It wasn't a hard assumption to make, the way they looked at each other was utter adoration. Even her mother could've seen it. Clearly in love, no doubt about it. And her mother wouldn't want her exposed to that "lifestyle."

"Well, what books do you like, kiddo?" asked John.

"Um… Well, lots." The truth was, she read anything. Most of the books her parents bought her were about cheerleaders, pony clubs, or American high school dances. They were semi-okay in small doses, but she much preferred to read books about crime, mystery, murder. Romance made her want to puke, and she always wanted a proper storyline. She decided to go with detectives.

"Well, we have these really old ones, they belong to Sherlock." He handed her a pile of books, and she struggled to support them with her slender arms. "Thanks, John." She smiled at him. He grinned goofily back, the gap in his teeth and his untidy hair really was quite endearing. She could definitely deal with having him around if the visits to Sherlock were to become more regular.

"What do you like to do?" he asked curiously.

"Well, obviously reading. I draw a bit, but I'm not great at it. I've got a blog..." This sparked John's interest.

"A blog? Cool! What's it about?"

"Oh, a lot of things. Mostly my life and what's happening with the books I'm reading."

"That's awesome. I'm supposed to write a blog, but I don't stick to it very well."

* * *

Loud voices sounded next door, they were having an argument. Jessica had expected this. She looked at John, and he shrugged. He didn't really know what to do. If he tried to break it up, he would just end up in the midst of it.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, Sherlock called Jessica back as he said he would.

"We've come to a decision. You can sleep here on Saturday evenings, in the spare room."

"Only if he's not here," her mother sniffed, pointing at John. They all nodded solemnly, but as Jessica's mother turned her back, Sherlock winked. Just enough for John and Jessica to see.

* * *

**a/n: Yay reunion and happiness and all that jazz! :D Aww Johnlock :3**

**Thanks for all the follows and favourites! And the reviews! :) You guys are amazing and I appreciate it so much!**

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**Um, if I get three reviews, I'm going to post TWO new chapters tomorrow! :)**

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